Catastrophe and the Cure
by Gavrilo-Princip
Summary: He isn't sure how he got here. Sometimes the road gets washed away. Oneshot, 1st in EitS series


_Note: There is no time frame for this. It is unnecessary. I was just listening to Explosions in the Sky and became inspired to write something. I want to try to write a series of short fics with no connection that take their titles from EitS songs. Accordingly, the titles aren't my own doing and the characters, obviously aren't mine. I don't have Word anymore and am making due, but this means that there will occasionally be typing and grammatical errors, which I apologize in advance for. For those interested, the songs these stories are titled after are inspiring the mood and maybe even the plot and one could possibly benefit from listening to the songs. Fair warning: Explosions in the Sky is a post-rock band (thought they don't like that - or any - label), which means no lyrics. One final warning: I am sick of constantly reading Jim/Pam fics that say the same thing over and over again. That's not to disparage those authors, but for those of you seeking the conventional, turn away now. Thank for you reading in advance. Reviews are appreciated but not required.  
_

_1st in the EitS series_

_

* * *

  
_

The day felt dark and long and it seemed that it would never be time to tidy their desks and leave for the day. He checked his watch for the thousandth time and it was still before two in the afternoon. Behind him and to his left, dark clouds heavy with rain loomed in the sky over Scranton and thunder rolled languidly, unseen and unhurried above the graying streets. He sighed heavily and gave a small smile towards reception, to Pam. She smiled back, equally small, and turned back to her computer. He sighed again. One of those days.

They still weren't used to the looks. After announcing a relationship and publicly being a couple, they found that their coworkers were at turns immature and inappropriate, with the more refined and mannered among them occasionally straying towards decent and politely intrigued.

But no, that didn't mean that they understood and really, they aren't to blame. He was never sure anymore and he felt more like he was at odds with either himself or his life; he couldn't decide which. That isn't to say that he was unhappy; he was quite the opposite. He just wasn't sure how his natural progression had brought him here. When he brought it down to it's most simple permutation (a word he remembered from a math course he took what seemed like years ago), he was just mystified by the paths people took, by events and causality and everything that made life unpredictable. He supposed that was the point.

-----

A few weeks ago, he stood with his father in a field of tall grass behind the house where he grew up. Their cheeks tinged pink with cold and their collars pulled up against the chill, they stood looking at the pale blue sky. The sound of soft music coming from the house a thousand yards behind them through a window left open a crack. His mother inside with his sister chatting idly over coffee, his brothers watching some game on television.

Jim and his father stood outside watching the wind blow in waves through the grass, the long stalks wimpling gently.

"So what happened?" his father finally asked, holding out an old and weathered silver flask. No further words required, the topic obvious. Jim took the flask from his father.

"I don't know. I don't even know that there's really an explanation _to_ know. If that even makes sense," he shrugs then laughs a little, sipping whiskey from his father's past. His father turns to look at him and his eyes are cold gray blue when they make contact and he smiles in this sad way.

"It does. Sometimes it just happens. You meet someone and you think things will turn out one way, think you'll be able to go a certain route and a rain comes along..." his father pauses, testing his son's memory.

"And the river rises..." Jim continues, looking out into the distance, wondering if the field would look the same in the context of a world completely empty of people. He thinks it would probably look more poignant.

"And the road washes out," his father finishes. The last part is crux of the whole phrase he remembered his father saying since he was little. The part let unsaid about finding a detour, going off the trail, making your way despite the obstacles. Through the forest in the dead of night, if you have to.

"Yeah," Jim says. He thinks that in the proper context, anything can seem poignant. Small moments made huge by hindsight or foresight. Things remembered.

"Well, you're capable. You'll figure it out," and his father clasps a callused hand around his son's shoulder before he turns and heads back to the house. He leaves the flask and for this Jim is grateful.

_I already have_, Jim thinks to himself, surprised.

-----

His work is completely forgotten now. He looks around the office and sees Andy and Dwight, working diligently, as always. He thinks they do and say foolish things sometimes, but he likes them and half admires their dedication. They're his friends. He doesn't say it, but that doesn't make it any less true. Phyllis and Stanley. Everyone else. Kevin in the corner talking quietly with Oscar. Angela isn't working either and she's looking at him and they both make eye contact. Her eyes are green and he smiles a little. She smiles a little in return and looks away.

Jim is not going to get any work done the rest of the day if he doesn't leave the office right now and reset himself. Abruptly, he stands and heads towards the supply room. He doesn't say a word and a few minutes later, he's pushing the roof hatch open. It's never locked and that's probably because Michael is in charge of making sure it's locked. He's wearing a gray sweater over his shirt and tie today. His coat is downstairs and the wind whips through his hair as he walks towards the edge of the roof and stands there, looking out at the gray and black sky. The city looks like it's made out of ash. It's five o'clock dark out and it throws his sense of time off. He watches the black clouds roiling in and a thunder vibrates through the pit of his stomach. He shoves his hands in his pockets.

He knows she'll probably follow him and that means that the rest of them will most likely start talking as soon as she's gone.

A few moments and he feels her small hands clutching at the back of his sweater, fisting the fabric and drawing it tight across his stomach as she presses her nose against his spine and huddles behind him, out of the wind.

"Hey," he says finally.

"Hello," she replies. Her hands let go of his sweater and slide around his waist and she hugs him and lays a pale cheek against his back. Jim sighs, content, and closes his eyes. The wind dies down and it's eerily still and when she speaks, it's muffled slightly.

"Are you okay?" she asks timidly, concerned that he's upset. He thinks by her tone that she is unnecessarily concerned that she did something to upset him and he smiles a little at her insecurity. Simultaneously unexpected and endearing.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine. It's just...." he pulls a hand out of his pocket to gesture emptily at the dark sky. He feels her pull back to look at him.

"One of those days," she finishes for him and it's not a question. She knows what he is going to say. Jim opens his eyes, his smile big and genuine. He loosens her arms from around his waist, turns, and pulls her around to his side.

The tip of her nose is pink and her blond hair is mussed from the now absentee wind. Lips a pale pink and her eyes are still green. She smiles up at him and he can only think _gorgeous_, knowing that she almost never smiles this genuinely for anyone. It's entirely for him, now, and his heart swells.

_How did we get here?_

She twines her arms around his neck, stands on her tip toes and presses a lingering kiss to his lips. His arms snake around her and when the kiss ends, when her warm and searching lips finally leave his, she leans into his shoulder and they both look out at the sky, at the city, as the wind comes back in, whipping her hair out in wild strands as the thunder rolls back in and claps overhead, heavy and defeaningly loud and they hold each other tighter.


End file.
